Only three is a charm
by Lakritzwolf
Summary: The third and final story of my Flak/Shrapnel/Sandy-series.   When Flak's past comes back to haunt him, it seems like only a sacrifice can save his girl. But what are the other two do to without him? Because only three is truly a charm.
1. Ghosts of the Past 1

_The third and final story of my Flak/Shrapnel/Sandy-series. It comes in three subsequent parts. Storyline picks up after the last chapter of "The three of us".** Part one: Ghosts of the Past**_

* * *

><p>– Five days later, to the far northwest of Rivet City –<p>

**OOOoooOOO**

"So, you finally came back."  
>"Yeah, so we did. We had a deal, remember?"<br>"I always remember my deals."  
>"Good. The goods."<br>"The information first."  
>"And how can I be sure to get my reward afterwards?"<br>"You will get it. Worth seven hundred caps. Just as agreed upon."  
>"Very well. I was right, after all. It's called Flak and Shrapnel's. That what you were looking for?"<br>"That name was what I was looking for. Anything else?"  
>"He had a girl. That'll do?"<br>"A girl? Fancy that. This is interesting. Very interesting. What is she like?"  
>"She's a head-turner, man. Lithe, but nice charlies. Chestnut hair."<br>"Perfect."  
>"Good. My reward?"<br>"Forty. The reward."  
>"What? That is a slave collar, Jones!"<br>"Correct. And one of them is worth three-hundred and fifty caps. So you will get one, your son will get one, and everything will be just as agreed upon."  
>"No! For god's sake, no! NOOO!"<p>

**OOOoooOOO**


	2. Ghosts of the Past 2

It was as boring an afternoon as they could possibly get. Nothing happened, and no one came. No scavenger, no trader, no merchant, and no resident who needed to stock up. Half bored to tears, Sandy was slouching on the couch and as she watched Flak and Shrapnel tinker around with some guns that could do with a little maintenance, she got up and leaned over the counter, too.  
>Momentarily distracted by the view of Sandy's upper body in a tank top leaning over the table into his direction Shrapnel didn't watch his fingers and a spring snapped, hitting him on the base of the thumbnail.<br>"Shit." Heftily shaking his hand he silently cursed and Sandy couldn't suppress a laugh.  
>"Sorry. Did I break your concentration?"<br>Shrapnel shot her a sheepish grin. "I guess so, baby."  
>Flak emitted a low snort with his lips clamped firmly around his cigarette. Sandy gave him a look, too, and folded her arms onto the counter.<br>"Flak?"  
>"Hm?"<br>"How do you manage that?"  
>He looked up. "What?"<br>"I've seen you smoke without using your hands doing practically anything, including fiddling around with tiny weapon parts, hanging from two ropes thirty yards above ground or shooting Talon mercs to bits."  
>Flak shot a slightly cross-eyed look at the corner of his mouth, puffed his cheeks, exhaled the cloud and looked at Sandy again. "Practise, I guess."<br>Sandy smiled and looked at his hands again. They were just assembling the trigger mechanism of a pistol.  
>"Can you teach me that?"<br>He looked up again. "Maybe it's better if you don't start. It turns into habit."  
>Sandy shot him a confused look before breaking out into a giggle. "I was talking about repairing guns, not smoking, you twit."<br>Shrapnel guffawed, dropped the parts he was assembling and the fuckwit of a spring that he had been cursing about moments before made a break for it and vanished under the counter. Still chuckling he went down onto his knees to hunt for it.

Flak stared back and forth between Sandy and his friend and, after rolling his shoulders, back at his pistol. "Sure. Why not."  
>Sandy leaned a little more forward to have a better view as Flak started to explain and name the various parts of the gun to her. Sandy listened intently, making good use or her mind that had been trained to memorize minuscule details during her medical education. Now using that to her advantage, she found that memorizing weapon parts was as tedious but also as easy as memorizing names of nerves, veins, bones and muscles.<p>

She followed Flak towards the cabinet with the shattered doors and he opened it. It contained various arms of different types, all sorts of rifles and a few heavy guns like a missile launcher and a fat man.  
>"Look here." Flak took out a hunting rifle. "This is a repeater." He started to explain the mechanism to her, but when he leaned back to show her something particular he suddenly faltered when his eyes fell into the direction of the stairs. He leaned forward, put the gun into the cabinet, closed it and kissed Sandy as if there would be no tomorrow.<br>Not that Sandy minded this, she was just taken by surprise and stiffened because of that and not because she didn't want to.  
>"Kiss me back", Flak whispered into her ear with a strange urgency.<br>Sandy did that, even though she was wondering what the fuck was with him all of a sudden as she slung her arms around him.

Shrapnel in turn had seen Flak's look and remained at the counter, watching the three men that had just descended the stairs. They looked around casually, but his years in the wasteland had taught him to recognise the look of intense observation when he saw one. And these men were looking for something, or, considering Flak's strange behaviour, maybe even someone. Covering his sudden unease with lighting a smoke Shrapnel watched the men from the corner of his eyes as they passed their stall, walked past Seagraves' and Gary's and back again, talking idly all the time while their eyes darted this way and that.

When they looked into their stall all they saw was Shrapnel tinker with a gun and another man kissing a girl with her back to the cabinet, and none of them cocked an eyebrow at that. Still, Shrapnel kept his eyes on them while assembling his rifle and first relaxed when they had ascended the stairs again and the door had closed behind them."All clear", he said softly.

Flak released Sandy and, looking down at her with an apologetic smile, he shrugged. "Sorry, darling. I kind of thought it wise not to let them see my face."  
>A little breathless, Sandy smiled back at him. "I hope your technique of taking cover wasn't too inconvenient."<br>He lowered his lids and gave her a look from the corner of his eyes before lighting another smoke.

"Who were these guys?", Sandy asked then as they went back to the counter.  
>Flak didn't look at her when he stowed away his lighter. "Slavers."<br>Sandy faltered and felt her hands begin to tremble. "What?"  
>Flak caught the odd note in her voice and looked up while Shrapnel, who was standing beside her, put a hand on her arm.<br>"Don't you look so spooked, baby", the latter said. "It's not the first time these fuckers tried their luck here. Flak has sold them out to Harkness every time and it's been quite a while since they tried it the last time. Just watch. He'll talk to Harkness, and we'll not hear of those cocksuckers again."  
>Sandy looked at him, then at Flak who was fiddling with the pistol with a bit too intense a look of concentration. "I don't swallow that. Something is wrong with you, Flak."<p>

Flak stared at the parts in his hands for a long moment; as the ash on his cigarette grew in length and began to droop he took it out, tapped it off in the ashtray and inhaled slowly before letting the smoke escape through his nose again. "One of them knows me. From... back then."  
>"And now?"<br>"Now?" Flak looked at her again and shrugged. "Business as usual. I'll speak to Harkness right away and we won't see the fucktards again."  
>She knew him too well by now and could see Flak knew that, too, by the way he avoided her eyes. She just had no intention of letting him get away with it. "What is it that you aren't telling me?"<br>Flak snubbed out his butt end and pressed his lips together for a second. He finally looked at her again, into her eyes, and nodded. "Serves me right for trying to hide anything from you, darling. You're right, there's something I haven't told, cause I didn't want to speak it out loud. One of them knows me... and I think they're not after slaves this time."  
>"But?", Sandy asked in a slightly shaky voice, even thought she felt she knew the answer.<br>Flak's look was dark and glowing as he replied. "Me."  
>Trying to remain calm Sandy took a deep breath. "And now?"<br>"Now?"  
>"What are you going to do now?"<br>"Go nowhere alone and never unarmed. What else?"

Sandy cast a despairing look at Shrapnel who didn't take his eyes off his friend while extending a hand to him. Flak took it and Shrapnel closed his hand around the base of Flak's thumb, a gesture which the latter returned.  
>"Don't worry, buddy", Shrapnel said. "I got your back."<p>

**OOOoooOOO**

On wind still summer days the heat made the air in the marketplace so unbearable that sometimes not even having all the doors standing wide open made the slightest difference and the hangar contained about three hundred percent humidity and about zero oxygen.  
>The only admission Flak and Shrapnel made to the temperature was taking off their vests and Sandy found it completely beyond her how they were so unfazed by it. Even with her boots off and her trouser legs rolled up, she still couldn't stand the heat and fled outside, leaning her arms onto the railing of the bridge and waiting for the tiniest breeze. The sun was about to go down and promised a miniscule falling of temperature for the night.<p>

Thinking about the events from the day before Sandy tried to remember if she had ever seen Flak so worried, and could only answer that question with no. He had made love to her last night with a fierce kind of passion that was very rare for him and Sandy wondered if there was something else he wasn't telling her. And as if summoned by her thoughts, she heard steps coming closer and felt a pair of arms close around her when Flak stepped in behind her. That befuddled her even more because he had never done that when anyone else had been around. Sandy could feel him tense when he began to speak in a low voice.

"I need to get something off my chest, darling."  
>She lowered her head against his shoulder and he took a deep breath.<br>"It's about why I fucked off back then. The Slavers, I mean."  
>"Shrap mentioned once it had to do with a girl?"<br>He was silent for a while. "Yes, but not the way you probably think right now."  
>Sandy lifted her hands and rested them on his while she watched the sun slowly lowering down behind the purifier.<p>

"Found her, and a few others, in a ramshackle farmstead somewhere out in no-man's land", Flak went on. "Didn't put up much of a fight, all of them were more than half-starved." He paused, groping for words. "She had a kid. A suckling infant. Was half-starved, too. And the boss said not to burden ourselves with worthless junk. Tore the baby out of her arms and dropped it to the ground."  
>Sandy could feel him tense even more and didn't blame him. It seemed to be a particular nasty set of memories he was going through right now, and while she wished she could spare him that she knew he had to talk about it, otherwise he wouldn't have come.<br>"Wailed like a siren", Flak went on after a long pause, his voice even lower. "And the mother screamed like a demon when we dragged her away." He shook his head. "I couldn't watch it. I fucking couldn't listen to it, either."  
>"What did you do?", Sandy asked after he had been silent for another long while.<br>He didn't answer at once. "Went back for the kid when we made camp couple of hours later. The woman had collapsed on the way and died but the kid was still there, still alive. Still waiting to starve to death or to be eaten alive." He exhaled through his nose. "I looked at it and knew I couldn't do a fucking thing. Couldn't bring it back to its mother. Couldn't bring it anywhere else, because there was nothing for miles and miles. And the thing was still wailing. Whimpering. It was a... a dreadful sound."

Not wanting to hear any more but feeling compelled to listen Sandy closed her hands tightly around his.

"I could do nothing. Not a fucking thing." He took another breath, and his voice was a little hoarse when he went on. "I killed it, Sandy. Snapped its neck 'cause that was the fastest and least painful way I could think of. I took it with me when I walked back and dropped it off onto the corpse of its mother. Didn't look back. The other's asked me where I'd been, I told them to fuck off. Next morning we ran into Raiders... they lost. Two got the collars on... and one of them was Shrap. You know the rest."  
>Sandy kept on holding on to his hands, but she had to admit to herself she found what he had just told her hard to swallow. She also had the feeling she should say something to him, anything to make him feel better or not as bad any more, but there really was nothing anyone could say to this. It had been a completely logical choice, putting the child out of its misery, and yet, the thought of him killing a baby touched a spot inside her that was very, very sore. She didn't stop him when he removed his arms and stood back but she turned around. Uncomfortable couldn't even begin to describe how he looked.<p>

He took a step back and avoiding to look at her, dropped his hands to his side. "I guess you need to digest that."  
>"I think I do, Flak."<p>

He nodded and slowly turned around, squared his shoulders and headed for the door. Sandy watched him go with a strange mix of feelings, feelings she would have to sort out somehow. She turned around again and went on watching the sun vanishing behind the memorial; and when the guards called out to her the bridge was about to be drawn in for the night she walked, silently and in deep thought, up to the flight deck.

**OOOoooOOO**

When Sandy failed to show up at their usual bedtime Flak forced himself to go through the whole shit again and told his friend what he had told Sandy before, and that this was likely the cause she wasn't there. Was still running around on the ship somewhere, maybe on the flight deck, trying to come to grips with it.  
>Shrapnel in turn just silently looked at his friend while he came clear about that particularly nasty bit about his past and silently as well, offered him a smoke when Flak was done.<br>"Nothing to be done about it now than wait for her to sort it out", Shrapnel said while he lit up his smoke. He offered the lighter to Flak who leaned over it and inhaled deeply once the cigarette was glowing.  
>"Think I should've told her that sooner?", he asked after a while.<br>Shrapnel shrugged. "I've asked that myself as well, buddy." He exhaled a cloud with a frown. "Don't know how to put it... but I think it's maybe better to wait a bit with throwing these kinds of things at each other. I mean, if we had been spitting all that into her face right at the beginning..." He stared at his smoke. "The girl trusts us, Flak. And I... well fuck it, I trusted her when I shovelled a load of shit from my past and dropped it at her feet, and she pretty much got along with it. I guess it'll be the same for you. She's strong, and she'll deal with it. Don't write her off, buddy."  
>"I'm not writing her off as such", Flak replied, dropping his head back against the wall. "I just can't fucking imagine the girl would want to touch me with a ten foot pole right now."<br>His friend blew another large cloud and watched it dissolve. "I couldn't have imagined that she would give me the best blow job I ever got right after I told her how many girls I've raped in my younger years."  
>Finding nothing to add to this Flak stared at the ash of his cigarette.<p>

"She knew you were a slaver", Shrapnel went on after a thoughtful pause. "She knew that almost from the beginning, man. And she's not as clueless, and wasn't back then, as not to know what kind of men slavers normally are."  
>Flak looked at him with raised eyebrows.<br>"Come on, buddy", Shrapnel went on. "Don't tell me that thought hasn't crossed your mind? She knew it. And that didn't stop her from losing her head over you, just like she lost it over me. And when I told her what kind of shit I did, it didn't change her mind. Not a fucking bit." He brought the cigarette to his lips and pointed it at Flak as he exhaled. "Remember what she said to you when you showed her that brand? It doesn't' change a fucking thing. I must say I was pretty impressed with her, but then, why was I surprised at all... she's a miracle, man." When Flak leaned forward towards the ashtray Shrapnel patted his back. "She'll come back in a bit, and then she'll kiss the living daylights out of you before doing something completely naughty. You'll just see." He leaned against the wall and blew another cloud. "You'll just see."

Smoking in companionable if a little uneasy silence they waited another hour, and slowly becoming nervous, another one. When it was long after midnight and Sandy had failed to show up, they left their cabin and started to look for her, but failed to spot even a hair of Sandy. They split up and searched the ship again, from the lower aft deck to the bridge tower, to no avail.

They met again in front of the science lab, both deeply worried upon seeing the look on each other's face. Flak was eating himself with worry, he blamed himself for not having talked with Shrapnel before that, to have some sort of backup for her, but the damage was done and they couldn't even sort it out because she was nowhere to be found.  
>"She's gotta be somewhere", Shrapnel said, trying to sound reassuring. "The bridge is still drawn in, and she can't just have flown away. We'll find her tomorrow."<br>Flak shot him a doubtful glance, and patting his pockets, realised he had run out of smokes. They went back to their cabin, nursing a dim hope she might have returned in their absence, but that wasn't the case.  
>"I've scared her off, man", Flak said hoarsely as he let himself fall down onto his cot. "I've fucking scared her off."<br>Shrapnel sat down beside him and offered him a smoke. "Bullshit." But it didn't sound as convinced any more.

**OOOoooOOO**


	3. Ghosts of the Past 3

The hangar was swarming with security the next morning and Flak and Shrapnel were informed that someone had broken into it. There had been a couple of ropes tied to the railing of the flight deck, their escape lane, most likely, and Harkness asked them to check their stock to see if anything was missing, but when he asked where Sandy was all he got in return were two worried looks.  
>"No clue", Shrapnel said. "She was out on the bridge yesterday afternoon taking a breath of air last time I saw her."<br>Harkness frowned. "The ship's being combed from top to bottom. If we find a trace of her, I'll let you know. This is strange."

Interrogating a few of the guards got him no more information regarding Sandy than the fact that she had been heading for the flight deck after leaving the bridge the evening before. That was the last anyone had seen of her.

Flak and Shrapnel made their way to their stall, but everything seemed untouched. It was when their eyes fell on their couch that, for the first time in more than fifteen years, Shrapnel saw his friend go pale as a shroud while being shaken by a violent shudder. He watched with a mortifying feeling of tightness in his chest as Flak slowly went down onto one knee before the sofa and pulled out a knife that somebody had buried up to the hilt into the cushions. When Flak turned around, looking at the knife, Shrapnel almost flinched. Flak looked as if someone had just shot him and he just hadn't realised he was supposed to fall over now.  
>"Buddy?"<br>Flak fell down onto the sofa.  
>"Flak?" Shrapnel hurried to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. It was rigid as wood. "Shit, buddy what is the matter with you?"<br>Holding out the knife with a somewhat unsteady hand Flak forced out a reply in a husky voice. "That knife is mine."  
>"What?"<br>"It's mine. Last time I saw that knife, though..." He swallowed heavily. "Last time I saw that knife I had just thrown it into the back of my squad's boss, right before I went off after you."  
>Shrapnel looked back and forth between the knife and Flak's pale and frozen face. "What the fuck is the meaning of this?"<br>Flak didn't take his eyes off the knife, running a thumb over the somewhat clumsy engraving of a brahmin skull at the base of the blade. "It means we can stop looking for Sandy. She isn't in Rivet City anymore."  
>"What?"<br>"You heard me, buddy." Flak twirled the knife around in his fingers. "This is a message. Why else would they place it here where I had to find it? I know how these fuckers work, Shrap. I know how they think. This, buddy, is a message. It says: We know who you are, pal. We found you. And if you want to see your girl again you'd better go and come find us."  
>"Jesus, Flak..." Shrapnel took out a pack of smokes with shaky hands. "What the fuck..." He groped for his lighter. "What the fuck are we gonna do now?"<br>"What." Flak took the offered cigarette and stood up after Shrapnel had lit it for him. "Bloody obvious. I'll go to Paradise Falls and see if I can get her out of there. It's me they want, after all. Otherwise they wouldn't have bothered with leaving my knife here in this place."

Shrapnel faltered upon hearing these words, lighter halfway up to his smoke, and stared at his friend as if the latter had lost his mind. "Fuck it, Flak, you can't be serious..."  
>Flak spun around. "What?", he snarled. "You'd rather let them keep her?"<br>"Fuck no", Shrapnel snapped back. "Of course not. But there must be some way..."  
>"No." Flak dug into an ammo crate and produced several packs of 10mm bullets. "Just take my word for it, buddy. I don't even know if they really let her go once they have me, but she sure as fuck will never get out of there otherwise."<p>

Shrapnel was still shaking his head in fruitless denial despite his better knowledge that Flak was right. If the Slavers had Sandy, and everything seemed to point into that direction, then there was nothing else they could do. It made him feel sick to the bones, though, to think of Flak giving himself up to the Slavers to get Sandy out of there. "Flak", he began again. "Jesus, buddy, think this through. There must be..."  
>"Shrapnel", Flak said, slowly turning around. "How big an army would you need to tear down 'Falls? And how big are the chances of the slaves in the pens surviving that?"*<br>Shrapnel failed to think of an answer.  
>"Face it. If I don't do this, Sandy's toast."<br>"But Flak..."  
>"Shrapnel." He shook his head. "Did you think of anything else but Sandy when you took that bullet into the head for her?"<br>Shrapnel finally had to admit his friend was right. "Fuck, no", he choked out. "But... buddy..."  
>Flak shrugged and loaded his SMG.<p>

Shrapnel stood there for a few moments before he could finally rally himself and clamping his smoke between his lips, he dug into another crate and slung a pack across his back to pack up a few supplies at Gary's.  
>Of course, their talk hadn't remained in their stall, and when Shrapnel now threw bottles of water into his pack a lot of folks around him watched him with worried, sympathetic faces. Snarling at them to get out of his fucking way Shrapnel left them stare at his back when he strode down the hangar towards the door where Flak was already standing at the top of the stairs. He cast a look at the marketplace, letting his eyes roam across the hangar, and Shrapnel knew he was making a farewell because he thought he wouldn't be coming back. Would never see this place again.<p>

Bullshit. They'd think of something and laugh about it next week... Yeah, sure. And they'd ride home on flying brahmins.

"I'm all set", he said to Flak when he reached the top of the stairs, which earned him a surprised look from his friend. "What?", he snapped. "You didn't think I'll let you go there alone?"  
>Flak gave him a strange, half-way grin. "Not really, no." Then he opened the door. "Besides, someone has to look after Sandy on the way back."<br>Shrapnel resisted the urge to spit at him that it would be the two of them of course, but he knew better than to keep on lying to himself like that. He followed his friend with a feeling as if he had swallowed a couple of rocks.

What with the slavers having a head start on them of several hours, a whole night at worst, they knew they'd never catch them underway and would have to approach Paradise Falls directly. Still, they made all the speed they could but lost hour after hour when they had to circle around Enclave outposts or fight their way past several groups or raiders.

In the end it was so long past midnight that it wouldn't be long before dawn when they approached the Slaver's city. They hadn't spoken a single word with each other the whole time, apart from whispering or shouting warnings, and when they now topped the last rise and looked down at the fortification of Paradise Falls with the first grey light creeping over the horizon they exchanged another long look before Flak set off again with a shrug. Trying to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach Shrapnel followed him.

The guards had seen them and stood alert when they halted, and Flak turned around, looking at Shrapnel with a locked jaw and tight lips.  
>"This is it, buddy", he said slowly and unholstered his SMG which he held out to his friend. "Won't need that anymore."<br>Shrapnel took the gun with a stony face and watched Flak go through his pockets. Producing first an empty pack of smokes that he cast aside and then his lighter, Flak handed the latter to Shrapnel, too, a crooked smile on his face. "Here. Yours always was a fuckstick."  
>Shaking his head Shrapnel slipped the lighter into a pocket. "God, buddy..." He swallowed. "I know you gotta do this but, fuck... what am I gonna do without you?"<br>Flak was still smiling that sad, crooked smile. "You'll think of something. You've got the shop. And you gotta take care of the girl, man."  
>"And what the holy fuck is she supposed to do?"<br>"Fuck if I know." Flak shook his head and stared in the direction of the gate. When he looked at his friend again Shrapnel couldn't stand it any longer and covered the distance between them in one step, throwing his arms around Flak in a rib-cracking embrace.  
>"Shit, buddy", Shrapnel choked out. "I..."<br>Flak slapped his back after returning the embrace for a moment. Then he tore himself away and took a step back, his eyes resting on Shrapnel's face. "If you ever have a boy, name him Frank." Then he turned around, but staring at his back, Shrapnel felt like he was going to explode.  
>"That your old man's name?", he called after him to cover up that nasty feeling, and Flak stopped and turned around again, his face unreadable.<br>"No. Mine." Then he smiled again, that crooked, sad, little smile and added: "Give her a good one for me, buddy." And with that he turned around again and, rounding a corner, was out of sight, leaving Shrapnel to stare at his vanishing back with burning eyes.

Shrapnel retreated slowly up the rise again, then ducked into a hollow in the ground where he slowly sat down and doubled over, his face a strained mask of pinched eyes and gritted teeth, shaking his head over and over again.

**OOOoooOOO**


	4. Ghosts of the Past 4

Shortly before reaching the gate Flak ran into the man who had recognised him after coming to Rivet City the other day. Said man drew a pistol and pointed it into his face.  
>"Now look here."<br>"Forty." Flak didn't cross his arms and squarely stared at him.  
>"How nice of you to come to visit", Forty said in a voice dripping with scorn. "Jones will be so happy to see you, pal."<br>"I should think so."  
>Forty gestured towards the entrance of the city compound with his pistol, and both of them headed through the gate with Flak in the lead and Forty following him, the pistol pointing at the back of Flak's head.<br>Entering Paradise Falls again after more than fifteen years Flak realised that practically nothing had changed in the shithole of a town, apart from a few minor details. As it was just dawning there were not many people around and they stopped in front of Eulogy's pad drawing only the attention of the guard on the watchtower. Forty finished his smoke, flicked away his butt end and gave Flak a glaring look.  
>"I'm not going anywhere", Flak said quietly. "I came here to see Jones."<br>Forty chuckled with a shake of his head. "We just have to wait then until he gets up, won't we."  
>Flak didn't answer and kept staring straight ahead until the sun had risen a little higher and the door opened with a small girl in a pink dress and a slave collar coming out of it. She faltered, stared at Forty, then at Flak and narrowed her eyes.<p>

"Get Jones", Forty snapped.  
>The girl vanished again and they didn't have to wait for much longer before Jones came sauntering out with a pleased and totally cocky smile on his face.<br>"Flak", he said jovially. "How nice to see you again. "  
>Flak just stared at him.<br>"Not going to say anything?"  
>"What do you want me to say?"<br>"For example, why are you here?"  
>"I'm here 'cause you have my girl."<br>"I have?" Jones looked around as if in thought, then made a show of his face lighting up. "Oh! The little Vault girl with the chestnut hair? The very one? Your girl?"  
>"Yes."<br>"And why did that make you come here?"  
>Flak suppressed an exasperated sigh. "Can you cut the crap, Jones? You got me now. Are you letting her go?"<br>The false joviality vanished from Jones' face as well as from his voice. "What made you think I would?"  
>"I didn't think you would." Flak didn't avoid his eyes. "I was only hoping it."<br>"Always the blunt one." Jones looked at his fingernails. "So I have her. What should make me give her up again?"  
>The moment he had dreaded all along finally having arrived Flak was almost glad he could have it over with. He took a deep breath and stared ahead. "I'd do anything for that."<br>"Anything?"  
>"Anything."<br>Jones' smile turned into something more sinister. "Tempting."  
>Flak gritted his teeth, biting back a snarky reply.<p>

Around them a few early risers had gotten wind of the ongoings at Eulogy's pad, and by now there were a couple of men watching the event with interest.  
>At last, Jones looked at Forty. "Get the girl."<br>Forty set off with a nod and a dirty look into Flak's direction. When he came back with Sandy in tow Flak felt a mixture of relief and mild horror, because while she was still alive, she looked the worse for wear with the slave collar around her neck and a large, dark bruise on her left cheek. He could only hope they hadn't raped her and that if they had, Shrapnel would somehow be able to help her get over it.  
>She noticed him and gave him a desolate stare, but all in all, she seemed to be comparatively composed.<p>

Jones turned to Flak again and folded his hands before him. "Forty", he said slowly.  
>Forty produced a pair of shackles and brutally tore Flak's arms behind his back to hand-cuff him. When he let go Flak looked up at Jones because he couldn't stomach to look at Sandy with her seeing him like this.<br>"So you'd do anything to get her out of here?", Jones asked again.  
>"Yes."<br>"Then beg me to."  
>Flak dropped his head. Bad enough to have to do this, yet he would have done it without hesitation, but to have Sandy watch him do it was the worst humiliation he could think of. And yet there was no help for it, so he took a deep breath and looked at Jones again. "Please", he said in a voice that was close to breaking. "Please, Jones, please let her go."<p>

Jones crossed his arms and Flak knew that he had lost. Jones was calling the shots, and whatever he said would happen. And if he wasn't able to pull this through, Flak knew, then Sandy would never get out of here alive. So he swallowed the last bit of pride and self-respect he had, toppled to his knees and bowed his head before choking out between gritted teeth whatever he thought Jones would like to hear. A part of his mind heard Sandy sob a couple of times but he locked that out, he would never be able to look into her face again anyway, so he would never have to see his defeat and his failure in her eyes. When he broke off, not knowing what else to say, Jones told him to get up again. He did so, wishing for it to be over. Just get it over with. Death would be a welcome rest after this.

He didn't quite notice Jones making a gesture towards Forty, but when he saw the other slaver move towards him he noticed that Sandy was clutching her bare and slightly scraped throat. Her collar was in Forty's hands and he grinned at Flak as he snapped the thing around his neck. "Still warm from her body, pal. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Jones now looked at Sandy, aware of the fact that if he had her killed, Flak would do his best to get himself killed right away too and that if she remained enslaved, then Flak would do his best to find a way for them to escape. Jones knew him to be highly resourceful.  
>"Get out of here", he said to Sandy.<br>Stumbling forward, Sandy halted beside Flak who didn't look at her.  
>"Flak?"<br>"Sorry I brought this onto you, darling."  
>"Don't do this, please...", she said in a choked whisper and Flak couldn't help but look at her again one last time, after all.<br>"I've already done it, darling. Don't make me having done it in vain. Go."  
>"You're not in a hurry to get out of here, aren't you?", Jones said with an edge to his voice. "Don't make me change my mind."<br>"I have to say farewell!", Sandy snapped at him in a choked wail, fruitlessly blinking her tears away.  
>"You have five seconds, bitch!"<br>With a sob Sandy spun around and crashed her lips onto Flak's, devouring them with tongue and teeth as she kissed him as hard as she could. He reciprocated the kiss the same way and when she broke away, he saw he had left a mark and drawn blood on her lower lip. She took a step back, tears streaming down her face and dripping down her chin.  
>"Run", Flak rasped at her. "Run, Sandy. Don't look back."<p>

She stumbled a step back and another one, then she turned around and ran. She didn't look back and Flak watched her disappear and listened to the gate opening and shutting again with a relief so palpable that he realised it was completely irrelevant what would happen to him now, as long as she was out of here. He looked back at Jones again whose face was a cold, unreadable mask.

**OOOoooOOO**

Blind with tears Sandy stumbled through the gate and past the guards, a pain devouring her guts that was so cold and so sharp-edged that she was surprised she could run at all. But run, she had to. Don't make him having done it in vain. He had sacrificed himself to get her out of there, and the only thing she could do was make sure he hadn't done it in vain. She stumbled and staggered up the rise, choking on her own sobs and unable to watch where she was going; so when she suddenly ran into a pair of arms she screamed like a panicked banshee, flailing her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to kick her attacker off.  
>"Jesus! Ouch! For fuck's sake, Sandy!"<br>She faltered and, through the haze of her despair and the veil of her tears, realised it was Shrapnel she had run into. She stared at him for a second before she collapsed against him, helplessly dissolving into tears and sobs as he closed his arms around her and wordlessly held her.

"We got to get him out of there", Sandy choked out after a while and tore herself away from him. "We got to...  
>"Sandy." Shrapnel laid both his hands onto her cheeks. "There's only two of us, for fuck's sake. We can't..."<br>"We... we can't just leave him there!", she wailed and clawed his hands away from her face. "We have to do something!"  
>"We can't do a fucking thing!", Shrapnel snapped at her. "It's a whole fucking city full of slavers and..."<br>"... and you don't have the guts to do anything to save your best friend's life!" Sandy screamed at him.  
>"Guts have nothing to do with it..."<br>"Fuck you." She grabbed for the SMG that was lying beside Shrapnel on the ground and hefted it.  
>"Oh no, Sandy you won't..."<p>

Sandy faltered as she finally looked at him. She suddenly realised that his face was a pale, haggard mask of pain, the lines dug deeply around his mouth. "Baby..." he began, but at that moment a single gunshot cracked through the silent morning.

They both froze, stared at each other and then, slowly, into the direction the gunshot had came from. Towards the still comparatively quiet city behind which the sun just topped the hills. No further shots followed. No sounds, no shouts, no signs of a fight.

With a choked gasp, Sandy dropped the gun. Shrapnel in turn felt as if the shot had hit him in the guts. He didn't want to speak this out loud, but in his years in the Wasteland he had gathered enough experience to recognise an execution when he heard one. But looking at Sandy, at the horrified, petrified expression on her face, he realised he didn't have to.  
>She slowly turned her head to face him. "Don't tell me that was..."<br>Shrapnel swallowed, but the lump in his throat refused to vanish. He could only shake his head.  
>Sandy swayed and almost lost her balance, and Shrapnel took her by the arm, picked up the SMG at her feet and pulled her close. "Baby", he said again, his voice breaking. "Sandy..." It was only a choke, but he swallowed his anguish and dragged Sandy after him. "Let's get out of here."<br>White-faced and empty-eyed, Sandy stumbled after him and didn't look back again.


	5. Ghosts of the Past 5

**OOOoooOOO**

Jones lowered the pistol. "Well, that does it, I guess", he said with a small smirk. "I don't normally waste bullets, but in that case I guess it was appropriate.  
>Forty looked at him and spat out. "And why the fuck is that so?"<br>"Because the shot will have told her he is dead." Jones holstered the gun and continued while lighting up a smoke. "And that is all she has to know about his fate. Is it not?"  
>Flak looked up from his bleeding arm and stared at Jones with a murderous glare, hoping to dare him into shooting him again, and for good this time. Jones noticed the stare and chuckled.<br>"Have fun, Forty", he said before he vanished into his house again.  
>Forty in turn looked at Flak and cracked his knuckles with a gleeful grin.<p>

**OOOoooOOO**


	6. Ghosts of the Past 6

Shrapnel was stumbling with exhaustion when they finally reached Megaton shortly after noon; he had gone through two all-nighters in a row, the first one being eaten with worry and the second travelling and fighting, had just lost his best friend and was close to collapsing and Sandy, whom he was dragging after him, was no better off than him. She was leaning heavily on him and more and more frequently lost her footing until finally, he picked her up and carried her while he stumbled onward, heading for the gates. The guard above it looked down at them and Shrapnel fought for balance when he stopped and looked up at him. "Open the fucking gates, man, for god's sake", he gasped out.

The man vanished out of sight and shortly after that the gates finally opened. Shrapnel staggered forward for a few steps more, through the gate, and finally, at the top of the ramp leading down into the crater, he slowly toppled to his knees. Breathing heavily he stared at the ground before him when a pair of boots came into his line of sight. A man crouched down in front of him and when Shrapnel lifted his head he looked into the Sherriff's worried face.  
>"What happened to you guys?", he asked.<br>"Slavers", Shrapnel said. "Got hold of her." He rested his eyes on Sandy's face, but she stared blindly straight ahead. "Flak... my buddy... offered himself in exchange for her. And now he's..." he choked on the words, "...now he's dead and..." he broke off before he shamed himself before the other man and kept his eyes trained on Sandy's empty face. "And she's free, but... I don't know. She needs a doctor, man."

Simms looked at Sandy and nodded, then took her by the hands and pulled her up. Shrapnel couldn't take a single further step; just sat back and watched as the Sherriff carried Sandy down the ramp and into the clinic. With awkward, clumsy movements he patted his pockets until he found his smokes, and when he fished out the lighter he realised it was Flak's, not his own, that he had in his hands. Staring at it with burning eyes he finally lit it, held it to his cigarette and inhaled deeply before whispering hoarsely: "Here's to you, buddy", and blowing the smoke out in a long, bluish cloud.

Then he closed his eyes. Saw images of his friend. Smoking, grinning, drinking, kissing Sandy.

Bringing the cigarette to his lips with a trembling hand he opened his eyes again but it didn't make much of a difference. He could hear Flak's voice in his ear as if he was standing behind him.

_...Give her a good one for me, buddy..._

"I swear I will", Shrapnel whispered as if to himself. "I'll take care of her, buddy. And if we have a boy, we'll name him Frank. I swear." He inhaled another time, his voice so hoarse it was only a grating. "I swear."


	7. Fight your Demons 1

_**Part Two: Fight your demons**_

* * *

><p>His body feeling as if it was filled with lead Shrapnel watched the town coming to rest as the afternoon wore on into early evening and just remained where he was, sitting in the dirt at the top of the ramp and smoking. It felt so wrong it was unreal. Flak couldn't be gone just like that. And here he had seen him go into that place and had heard his execution not long after that. But that he was gone... that he would never see him again and never hear his voice again... it was too hard to swallow. He had run out of cigarettes an hour ago but was still fiddling with the lighter as if in doing so, he could keep a last contact with his friend. At least he would remember him every time he lit a smoke.<p>

The door of the clinic opened and Shrapnel slowly laboured to his feet when the Sherriff stepped out, leading Sandy with a hand under her arm as he walked her slowly up the ramp. She didn't look at him, her face pale and her eyes swollen, and the Sherriff just shook his head. "Just to put you at ease", Simms addressed Shrapnel. "She hasn't been raped. She's just knackered. Get her to bed."  
>Shrapnel nodded silently while taking Sandy's arm and led her towards her house, helping her with the lock because her fingers were so weak they couldn't properly grasp the key.<p>

To spare her the trouble he simply carried her up the stairs after kicking the door shut behind him, and when he had lowered her onto the edge of the bed he sat down beside her and wished he could knock himself senseless. Sandy leaned against his shoulder and began to silently sob again, and draping an arm around her shoulders he pulled her close and let her weep. It was a luxury he didn't have, but he didn't begrudge it to her.  
>After an amount of time he couldn't really tell because his mind was constantly kind of drifting on and off he felt her lean back a little before wiping her face. "Is there any water?", she croaked.<br>He got up and dug around in his pack, producing a bottle for her. She took it with a nod of thanks and Shrapnel stretched his aching back before looking down again. Sandy returned the look over the rim of her bottle, an empty stare of utter desolation.

"How can I go on living like that?", she whispered. "How can I, knowing I've been the cause of his death?"  
>"Baby", he gave back and lowered himself onto his knees before her. "Sandy baby, it wasn't your fault."<br>She screwed the top back onto the bottle. "It wasn't my fault I was running around on the flight deck, at night and alone, a day after we'd seen Slavers parading in the marketplace as bold as brass?"  
>"Well..." He shrugged helplessly. "We all thought they were after Flak."<br>Sandy shook her head with a soft snort. "I should have known better."  
>"And maybe he should've known better and told us that in our cabin instead of catching you alone? In the end..."<br>"Hold on", Sandy interrupted him with flushing cheeks. "You're saying it's his own fault he's dead now?"  
>"No." Shrapnel shook his head in emphasis. "Fuck, no. But what I'm saying is it's of no fucking use, wallowing in what-ifs. It doesn't change a fucking thing. He..." He choked again and cleared his throat before continuing. "He's dead, and nothing will change that. We just gotta find a way to deal with it."<br>Sandy let her head drop forward again. "I still can't believe it."  
>"Neither can I." Shrapnel rubbed his hands down his face. "Fuck, neither can I, Sandy." When he opened his eyes again to look at her he found her stare at him with eyes that were bleak with sorrow.<br>"They made him beg, Shrap. They made him beg for my life and I... I was standing there with a slave collar round my neck and forced to watch while they humiliated him into the ground and below. I... I wanted to die with him."  
>"Baby." He cupped her face in his hands and swallowed. "Sandy..." But when he leaned forward to kiss her she turned her head away.<br>"Please, don't kiss me just yet." He saw her touch her lower lip and noticed first now she had a mark there that had been bleeding not too long ago.  
>"Sorry", he began, but she just shook her head, her eyes spilling over again.<br>"It's just... it was..." She tried to swallow a sob with no success. "...his last kiss..."

Shrapnel could only close his arms around her again to pull her close when the next violent attack of helpless sobbing took hold of her. He gently rocked her back and forth while digging his fingers into her hair.  
>"Oh Sandy..." He shook his head while staring at her tousled hair. "You know what his last words to me were?"<br>She looked up at this, cheeks wet and eyes red and swollen, and shook her head.  
>He felt a sad smile creep onto his face despite himself. "Give her a good one for me, buddy." Then he looked at Sandy. "So typical for him, that sleazy bastard."<br>Sandy wiped a hand across her face and took a deep breath. "Well, what are you waiting for, then?"  
>"You're not serious...?" He blinked rapidly a few times.<br>"His last words to you, yes?" Sandy touched her lower lips and tried to bite back more tears. "So you are going to give me a good one, and if you are going to give me a good one, I'd rather have you do it while I can still feel his last touch on me!"  
>"Sandy... seriously..." Shrapnel shook his head and ran a hand through her hair. "Baby..."<br>"Please", she whispered. "His last words to me were I should run, and not look back. And I ran. And I didn't look back. Don't make me having done it in vain, he said. And I ran. I ran like never before in my life." She took a deep breath and placed a trembling hand on Shrapnel's cheek. "Now it's your turn. Give her a good one for me, he said. Well, then you'd better fuck me like you've never fucked a girl before in your life."

Shrapnel leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. "Baby..."  
>"You just do anything you must. Anything you want to, but... don't pretend you're him. And don't kiss me just yet."<br>With a deep sigh, Shrapnel moved his lips towards her ear. "Sandy", he whispered before kissing her earlobe. "Baby." Sandy shuddered and he placed a kiss on her neck, kissing the scrapes left by the slave collar. Sandy in turn closed her eyes and buried her hands into his hair.

When they not long after that were lying entangled and naked on the mattress in the old, rusty bed and Shrapnel sheathed himself with closed eyes and a deep groan, it was Flak's name Sandy whispered, and when she finally reached her peak, despite being sure she never would in her state, she also screamed his name out loud, biting her lower lip to enhance the pain he had left there. Just to feel his last touch on her. Her face was wet with tears when she did so and she couldn't open her eyes when Shrapnel spent himself into her with his last thrusts, his whole body taut and trembling. Only when he collapsed onto her and didn't stop trembling did she realise that he was fighting back tears. "Shrap..."

"This is wrong", Shrapnel muttered into her shoulder, choking on his own words. "This is so fucking wrong. He should be here. Sitting on a chair and watching us with that goddamn smirk of his. Coming in and asking if he missed the show. Or something!" His voice broke with the last words and he dug his fingers into Sandy's shoulders. Sandy could only close her arms around him. "He can't just fuck off on me like that! He's always been there! For fucking sixteen years he's always been there! He can't just be gone!" And then he sobbed. Feeling like she had swallowed a barrel of ice Sandy was lying there, holding his head against her shoulders, and he wept, wept with the rusted, hoarse and choking sobs of a man who never cried, who was not used to tears and who was deeply ashamed of them.  
>It took him quite a while in his state until he could get a hold on himself again and when he had, he didn't dare to look at Sandy any more while he was wiping his eyes as if he meant to scratch them out of their sockets.<p>

When they finally rolled towards each other again and tried to sleep Sandy realised that no matter what and how, from now on, one side of her would always remain cold. They were both staring at the wall, and both felt the absence of the body that should have been there like a missing limb.  
>In the end they both fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but their sleep brought them no relief, because their haunts followed them into their dreams.<p>

**OOOoooOOO**

Sandy watched Shrapnel stuff his things into his pack and check his gun while sitting on the bottom stair wearing just her shirt and panties. "You sure you shouldn't just take a break here?"  
>Shrapnel looked up at her and shook his head. She could see his eyes were sunken and shadowed and his face pale, his voice as tired as the movements of his body. "No. I... I need to get back, Sandy. That was... it was our place from the very start, and I got to get to grips with it there. Got to man the shop too, you know. Life..." He swallowed and shook his head before continuing hoarsely: "Life goes on. One way, or another."<br>"I understand."  
>He looked at her. "But you're not coming."<br>"Not yet." She looked at her hands and then up at him again. "I can't... I just can't stomach the thought of being there just yet. With every door and corner and person... every bloody dust mote there reminding me of him. Things he'd been touching not two days ago. I can't... I just can't. Not yet."  
>Shrapnel nodded. "I guess you know best." Then he hoisted the pack onto his back and hefted his rifle. "Just promise me you'll come with a caravan and not alone."<br>"Shrap, I've made my way back and forth between Megaton and Rivet City a hundred times on my own."  
>"Promise me."<br>She noticed the look in his eyes and sighed. "Okay. I promise."

He nodded and was about to leave when he turned around again. "Sandy?"  
>"Yes?"<br>"You are coming back... aren't you?"  
>She smiled softly at him. "Of course I'll come back." Then she got up and stepped beside him; looking up at him she ran a hand through his hair. "You're all I've got left now. And I'm all that you've got left. If we don't keep hold of each other we'll go to pieces."<p>

Shrapnel couldn't have put it into any better words and leaned forward, just in time remembering about the kiss and placing his lips on her forehead instead of her mouth. Then he leaned back, habitually patted his pockets for his smokes, remembered he had run out and shrugged. "Take care of yourself, baby." With these words he was out of the door and Sandy sat down on the stairs again, drained and battered, and still her eyes spilled over again. She would never have thought that she had so many tears inside her.

**OOOoooOOO**


	8. Fight your Demons 2

Not many people gave the door much attention at first when it opened, but when the first people noticed that it was Shrapnel who had come almost stumbling in they fell silent, alerting those around them to the fact he had come, and that he had come alone, looking like death. A lot of sad and worried looks were exchanged upon that realisation.  
>Shrapnel in turn ignored all their stares as he headed for their stall, forcing himself to look up at the sign, and for a second he had to resist the urge to pull his shotgun out of his belt and shoot the bloody thing into splinters. Then his shoulders sagged and with a shake of his head, he walked past the counter, dropped his pack and flopped onto the couch before burying his face in his hands.<p>

He heard steps come towards him but didn't look up. He had no intention of letting anyone see his face right now.  
>"Shrapnel?" Of all people, it was Angela, the fucking bitch.<br>"What do you want, bitch?", he snarled at her through his fingers.  
>She hesitated before answering. "I brought you a beer."<br>"Shove it up your cunt."  
>He could hear her go again, but he also heard her putting the beer onto the counter before she left the stall. Still not looking up he remained like that and could hear the usual bustle of the marketplace slowly pick up again. It sounded just as always. To them, nothing had changed. Life would go on.<p>

He finally dropped his hands, and after staring at the floor between his feet for a while he let himself fall back and stared straight ahead, wishing feverishly for a cigarette. There was a drawer in the cabinet where Flak used to keep a couple of packs, but fuck if he would palm his buddy's smokes.

For some reason, Shrapnel could hear Flak snort behind him.

_...don't be a jackass, buddy. No use in letting them go to waste, is there..._

Gritting his teeth he leaned forward, eyed the drawer and with a shake of his head got up, equipped himself with two packs and sat down again to smoke his dead buddy's cigarettes using his dead buddy's lighter. After he finished the first smoke he got up and took the beer after all, staring at the bottle for a second.  
>"Here's to you, buddy", he said again and knocked it back in one, single draught.<br>After exhaling sharply through gritted teeth he stared at the bottle again; then he spun around and threw it against the wall as hard as he could. It shattered, littering the workbench and the floor around it with shards of glass.

When he had fallen back into the couch after that and lit another smoke he noticed the security chief coming up to him. His voice was calm and not unfriendly as he spoke. "Just letting you know I'm not tolerating that again, Shrapnel."  
>Shrapnel didn't look at him. "I'll not be doing it again, Chief."<br>"What happened?"  
>"Flak's dead, is what happened."<br>"And Sandy?"  
>"Sandy's in Megaton. She couldn't stomach being in Rivet City anymore."<br>"I see. I'm sorry, Shrapnel. I really am."  
>"Yeah, whatever. Thanks. I'd appreciate to be left in peace right now."<br>"Got you." Harkness walked away without another word.

Shrapnel stared at his smoke, tapped off the ash and, with a completely motionless face, took it between thumb and forefinger and snubbed it out in the palm of his left hand.

**OOOoooOOO**


	9. Fight your Demons 3

The empty blackness gave way to the red haze again. Only this time, the red haze wasn't completely red. A man's face swam into his vision, only reddish and slightly fuzzy around the edges.

"Come on, you gotta drink that."  
>Something touched his lips and he could feel water in his mouth. Swallowing was far too painful, though, so it just trickled out again.<br>"For god's sake, if you don't swallow that you're dead tomorrow."  
>Wasn't so bad a prospect, the way he felt right now. Awareness came back to him when he tried to focus on the face hovering above him. He was lying on his back, and there wasn't an inch of his body that didn't complain in one way or another. Whoever the fuckwit was that was trying to make him drink, he now took his shoulders and tried to straighten him up. It hurt like fuck. Broken ribs? Maybe.<p>

The bottle was at his lips again and this time he tried to swallow, only to have his stomach revolt against it. With a violent cramp he threw up and collapsed again, his face landing right beside the puddle of slime, water and red streaks of blood. Shit. He was vomiting blood. Not again.  
>Again? He had been vomiting blood before? Yes, he had. He knew that sensation. The violent, cramping pain in the stomach, and a small, gentle hand on the skin of his belly.<br>His eyes flew open. There was no hand.  
>But there had been back then.<p>

_How do you feel?  
>Like shit. But if you do that again I might forget about it for a while.<em>

He couldn't even swallow by himself, every bone in his body seemed shattered and still, the jolt that went through him when he suddenly saw her face before his inner eyes made him shoot upright again.  
>Sandy. And then it all came creeping back to him. The slavers, the knife, the journey to Paradise Falls. And the worst trouncing he had ever received in his whole fucking life what with his hands having been shackled behind his back.<br>But she was gone. Sandy was free. He had seen her run away, had heard the gates, and she was out of here. That was all that mattered.

Flak looked at the face of the man again who had tried to give him water. He was wearing a slave collar, and the last bit of memory clicked into place. With the failing remnants of his dimming consciousness he had registered that after beating seven kinds of shit out of him, Forty had dragged him into the slave pen. And the chocking pressure around his swollen neck was the slave collar they had locked him down with.

"Hey pal."  
>"What." It was only a hoarse, toneless croak. Jesus, had the bastard shattered his voice box?<br>The other slave held the water bottle out to him again. "You've been more or less unconscious for two days, man."  
>Eyeing the bottle, Flak suddenly realised that his hands were, while still shackled, at least not behind his back any more. Jones might be a slimy, nasty piece of work and Forty an evil bastard, but both had at least that last shred of decency left to allow a man to be able to piss by himself.<br>He took the bottle with weak and swollen fingers, but managed to bring it up to his lips because he knew it was useless not to do it. Any slave who tried to escape his fate with refusing food or water was forced to consume it and he had no intention to be at the receiving end of that particular treatment.

The water felt like boiling acid in his stomach but this time, it stayed down. He cautiously took another sip and a third one and slowly, his stomach calmed down again. The water also made the feeling return to the completely numb and parched inside of his mouth again so he finally found enough control over his tongue to check his teeth, and to his relief all of them were still in place.

Flak was slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again, as well. He was in the male slave pen, and apart from him there were presently five other men in here. He was the only one in shackles, however. With a deep breath he shuffled backwards so he could lean his back against the wall and stared up into the darkening sky. In his current condition, every attempt at fleeing was bound to turn out a failure, so he had to bide his time a little more and wait for his body to heal before he could even begin to plan.  
>But what he could at least do was find himself a little piece of wire. Unlikely that one of the men around him had a bobby pin, or even a knife.<br>Flak closed his eyes and felt a deep restlessness, something that urged him not to wait too long.

_Because the shot will have told her he is dead. And that is all she has to know about his fate. Is it not?_

Shrapnel and Sandy believed him to be dead. He had to get out of here as soon as possible. Before he was sold and sent god knows where. But to achieve that, he had to find a piece of wire first. And to be able to use that piece of wire, he had to wait until his hands and fingers had regained their feeling and weren't so swollen any more. He had to have torn at his shackles like a madman at one point; his wrists were practically scraped raw and his palms and fingers were caked in dried blood.  
>Flak lowered himself back onto the ground and closed his eyes. He could do nothing but wait.<p> 


	10. Fight your Demons 4

**OOOoooOOO**

Any sane man would have left him in peace upon noticing the facial expression he bore while knocking back his vodka as if there was no tomorrow, but there's always one, as the saying goes. Shrapnel was by now halfway through his second bottle and stared up at the man walking past his table with blood-shot eyes and a murderous look. He wanted to be left alone.  
>The man stopped.<br>"Fuck off, asshole."  
>"Keep your pants on", was the reply. "It's not my fault you managed to lose both your fuck-buddies."<br>Shrapnel was out of his chair so fast that he knocked it back, and the force of his moves knocked the table over, as well. He was at the man's throat with a bestial growl and his face a furious grimace of bared teeth and burning eyes before anyone could react and Brock had managed to hurry over; but it took two men, Brock and another patron who had come to his aid, to wrench Shrapnel away from his opponent whose face was already turning blue. While the stupid fuck now fell flat onto his back and gasped for air, Shrapnel was tearing at the arms holding him back with wordless growls of fury.  
>"Shrapnel!", Brock barked at him. "Shrap, for fuck's sake, come to your senses, man!"<p>

As suddenly as the fury had come it left him again and Shrapnel sagged back with a sound that was far too close to a sob for anyone around him to be comfortable with. Brock cautiously let go of his arm and the other man did the same, but Shrapnel in turn only rolled his shoulders, shook his head and left the Rudder with fast and heavy steps, nothing in his movements betraying anything of one and a half bottles of vodka sloshing around in his bloodstream.

When the foul-mouthed bastard who had provoked the attack on himself had laboriously managed to get onto his feet again Brock gave him a stare of contempt mixed with anger. "Fuck off for tonight, Jimmy. Hope you finally learned your lesson, you ass."  
>Now forced to leave the Rudder Jimmy did so, but hesitatingly, as he was kind of worried, and with good reason, that Shrapnel would waylay him around one corner or another and finish the job this time.<p>

Shrapnel, however, was already back in his cabin, lying on the empty mattress on his belly with his face buried into his forearms.

**OOOoooOOO**


	11. Fight your Demons 5

He had completely lost track of time. He had been unconscious for two days, the other slaves had said, but the days kind of blurred into one another with the attacks of fever coming and going like clouds being driven past the sun by random gushes of wind. So when the fever finally left him, Flak had no clue how long he'd been in there now. The pen around him had emptied, and he was alone. Unsold, because a fevered slave was worthless. And only alive because Jones thought that putting him out of his misery was too good for him. But even despite the fever his body had somewhat recovered and when the darkness of night settled down on the Wasteland he could finally get up and walk over to the fence.

He walked back and forth, looking up and down, searching for a loose end of wire he could pull out, but without success. The fence was solid and undamaged. With a sigh he sat down with his back against the wall to think. What with the slave collars and the fences the slaves weren't watched too closely, and that was the only privacy he had.  
>No wire. No bobby pins. No knife. But all he really needed was a small piece of metal of some sort. Something small, thin and halfway solid, some kind of metal pin...<p>

His belt.

He looked down at himself and didn't even waste time to offer thanks to whatever deity was behind the grace of him not having his hands shackled behind his back. He unbuckled his belt, drew it out of its loops and extending the pin that went through the holes, brought the buckle up to his collar.

It was a risky undertaking. While he had repaired many a collar in his time and knew how they worked, he had never disarmed one, and never ever had he tinkered with one of the fuckers with his hands in shackles while it was clamped around his neck and he couldn't see a fucking thing. He couldn't even say if it was the right slit he pricked the pin in but he would know soon enough. Either his head would explode, or it wouldn't. Gritting his teeth he pushed the pin into the hole with a click.

His head didn't explode.

Flak dropped the belt, his breath that he hadn't been aware he'd been holding escaping him in an explosive huff. The trouble was, he didn't know if he really had disarmed the thing. There was only one way to find out, though. He slowly got up again and looked across the plaza. No one was giving him any notice, as the last three slavers who were still around were busy getting themselves hammered.

He turned around again and eyed the wall at the back of the pen. There was a doorframe, and that was the only thing he could use as a hold. Gritting his teeth he grabbed the doorframe with both hands, his fingers clamping down onto the hardly jutting wood, and pulled himself up while his feet grappled for a hold. After several minutes of silently cursing, swearing and sweating his third attempt to mount the doorframe, after having crash-landed two times, finally succeeded and he stood tiptoe on the wood and managed to get a hold on the edge above him. His arms were already trembling from the strain of mounting the doorframe, but there was no other way onto the wall than to chin himself up there, a serious challenge in his current state and his hands in shackles.

He had to summon all his strength and all his force of will because he knew he wouldn't have the strength left for a second attempt. While the slavers didn't starve him, they still kept him short, and that, together with the violent beating he had received, followed by fever, resulted in him being seriously weakened. When he finally had managed to drag himself up on the wall he had to fight a blackout for several seconds and could only barely drag his feet up the roof after him. All the time he was also aware that if one of the slavers so much as cast a casual look into his direction he would see Flak clinging to the wall like a fly and would doubtlessly shoot him down like one.

After taking several minutes to catch back his breath and relax his aching, trembling muscles, his next hurdle were the barricades of corrugated iron and wood topped with barbed wire. He rolled onto his stomach and forced himself up into a kneeling position, constantly reminding himself to not lose too much time. Any second he remained up here was a second longer the slavers had to spot him.

After having laboured onto his feet again Flak stared at the barricades for a moment until he was struck by the solution. He extended his forearms, tensed the chain between his wrists and used that as a tool to flatten the barbed wire enough for him to be able to swing himself over. What he had forgotten however, or rather overestimated, was the remaining strength in his arms. He fell short, got caught with arms and torso in the barbs and could only tear himself off it with letting go of the wooden frame. He dropped from the roof like a sack full of rocks, crashed into a car that was standing close enough to the wall and rolled off that with a grunt of pain and finally landed in the dust beside it with his face in the dirt, a whole new set of pains all over his body. This time, he fought the blackout to no avail.

When he surfaced into consciousness again it was still dark and still silent, so the slavers had not yet discovered his escape. He struggled onto his feet and realised he had no clue how he could even attempt to make his way back to Rivet City in his state. He was hurting all over, so stiff with pain that he could hardly move, he had no water, no food and no weapon, and what was worst, was still shackled. On top of that, he still had no clue if he really had disarmed the fucking collar. Then he stared at his hands, clenched his fists and shrugged. No other way to find that out than to try. If he had, then he still had a chance to get back, and if he hadn't, he would go out like a light and that would change nothing for Shrapnel and Sandy who believed him to be dead already. Squaring his shoulders, or at least trying to, he slowly took a step, and another one. And another one. He looked back at the wall, and before he even knew it he was staggering and stumbling away from Paradise Falls on aching legs, but with his head still attached to his body. Jesus Christ in a fucking bottle, he was one lucky bastard.


	12. Fight your Demons 6

**OOOoooOOO**

She had forgotten to count the nights. Too many in any case. Too many nights lying alone and restless in her bed. Too many days spent walking aimlessly around the ramps of Megaton, avoiding to talk to anyone. Too much time spent alone. And still... still she couldn't stomach going back to Rivet City.

At one point she had to go back, though. She was sick of being alone, and she would have to face it sooner or later. But since she had promised Shrapnel to travel with a caravan and not alone, she was forced to wait a couple of days more. Only a couple of days, maybe even less.

And even if Rivet City would be full of painful memories, she could at least settle back into the arms of a man who could help her find some sort of consolation. And she could maybe help him do the same. There wasn't much else either of them could do, anyway.

The next caravan came and left again the very next morning.

Sandy watched it go.

**OOOoooOOO**


	13. Fight your Demons 7

The first shot had kicked up dust right beside his feet and the second one would have hit him right in the guts if he hadn't let himself fall down flat onto his belly. Cursing and swearing Flak crawled behind a rock and the third shot chipped a piece of stone off it just as he had dragged his legs into cover. With his heart hammering in his chest he pressed his back against the rock and listened.  
>"Come out, come out, wherever you aaaare..."<br>It was the maddened croon of a person far out on some kind of drug. A raider, most likely. By the sound of it a single one. A single raider with a hunting rifle against a shackled, weakened man. Flak gritted his teeth.  
>"This is bullshit. Come out and fight!"<p>

It sounded already much closer, and Flak listened to the voice, the footsteps crunching in the gravel and his own heartbeat. The raider was coming for the cluster of rocks that were Flak's cover and he summoned all his strength of will again to be able to force his aching, burning muscles to do what they had to. He extended his arms and tensed the chain. Again, he had only one chance to pull this off.

When he saw the tips of the raider's boots round the rock he was crouching behind, Flak was fuelled by enough adrenaline to be able to shoot up and, while swinging around the surprised, drugged-out raider, sling the chain around his neck. The raider tried to scream but only emitted a choking sound while Flak pulled harder, teeth bared and breathing hard. The raider dropped his weapon and clawed at the chain around his neck, but Flak held on with the grim determination of the damned. Only one of them would walk away, and Flak had no intention of losing it now after having made it this far.

The raider's legs began to jerk violently and his body convulsed, his resistance weakening. Still Flak held on to the chain, and first when the body he pressed against him had stopped twitching he let go before toppling to his knees himself beside his former opponent with a swimming vision. But he had to check if the bastard had anything drinkable on him. He was parched. Rummaging through his pockets Flak found no water, but he did find other useful things. A combat knife. A bobby pin. A pack of ammo for the hunting rifle. And a jet inhaler.

He dropped the inhaler with narrowed eyes and shrugged. Then he picked up the knife and closed his eyes, in the desperate attempt to remember how the fuck he had managed to get Shrapnel's collar off with one. He groped around the metal clamped around his neck, then stuck the tip of the knife into the slit he thought to be the right one, but when he tried to twist it the knife slipped and almost cut his throat. Staring at the blood trickling down his chest he swallowed, but he had to try again. Because he had suddenly had an idea how to get rid of the slavers, once and for all. Or so he hoped, at least. He eventually dared a second attempt of inserting the knife into the lock, and after cautious rattling and twisting, the collar suddenly snapped. With a groan of relief Flak tossed the dreadful thing away and shuddered.

Eyeing his chains he wasn't sure if the knife would be solid enough to try and crack one of the rings, but it wouldn't have to be more than a slit, anyway. He tried. Twisting and pulling and shoving, cursing and swearing and repeatedly cutting into his arm and wrist, he finally managed to pry the last ring on his left wrist the tiniest bit open. Labouring onto his feet again he then slung the chain around a jutting piece of rock and pulled, hanging all his weight into the chain and using his legs as an added lever. He had to pause several times and blink the sweat out of his eyes, and by now he was so exhausted that his whole body was trembling. But he forced himself to try again. Must not give up. If he gave up now, everything else he had gone through already would have been in vain.

He hung himself into the chain again and it suddenly gave. After landing flat on his back with a painful groan Flak gasped for air and tried to catch back his breath while fiddling around with shivering fingers to work the ring he had pried open out of the one holding it. The chain dropped, and Flak dropped, too. He had managed to escape, he had rid himself of the collar and even his wrists were no longer chained together, but now he was at the end of his tether. A bloatfly would be able to finish him off right now.  
>He had nothing left to fight the dead feeling of tiredness that dragged him under.<p>

When he came to his senses again he was honestly surprised at the fact that he did. He had passed out twice during the night, in the middle of the fucking wasteland, and here he was, still alive and breathing. But when he sat up, his whole body one fiery, aching pain, he knew he wouldn't get any further.

Until his eyes fell onto the jet inhaler again.

Fuck that. He needed every help he could get right now.

The stuff tasted foul, a sickly, sweetish acidic taste that tingled and burned on his tongue; but he forced himself to inhale as much of the poisonous fumes as he could. He had never, ever tried jet before and sincerely hoped he would never again have to. But when, moments later, he felt his whole body tingle and vibrate with a strange kind of energy he suddenly understood why anyone would willingly take the stuff. Flying on jet... the saying didn't originate in nothing, after all.

Powered on by the drug Flak now got down to realise his plan from the night before. Firstly, and that was almost the hardest part, he swapped his clothes with the raider's. Then he placed the collar around the raider's neck, hooked the body's fingers into it and set it back to explode, a piece of cake with his heightened awareness and a fucking bobby pin. He chuckled in glee as he ran a few steps back when the sensor beeped and watched with a maddened grin as the collar exploded, sending fingers, bits of skull, brain and other tissues flying all over the place. Maybe it would even work, if no one noticed that the shattered corpse wasn't wearing any shackles. It might work. They might find this, if they went after him, and think him dead. Maybe. It certainly was worth a try. Picking up the hunting rifle Flak chuckled again and jogged off, to get as far away from 'Falls as possible before the effect of the drug wore off and would leave him completely helpless.

Even through the dazzling high of jet he knew better than to approach Megaton wearing a raider armour. So he just skirted around the hulk of metal and made his way south as fast as he could, regretting more than once that the fucking raider hadn't had any more jet on him. He jogged past the ruins of houses and farms, always south, and finally east heading for the river. It was as he passed the old Arlington Library that he could feel the first signs of the jet-high lessening and set off at an ever greater speed in the dim hopes of making it across the river before his body would fail him.

He made it to the water's edge before he ran into another attack, raiders again and a couple of them this time. He was still on jet though, and in a desperate attempt to outrun them he dropped the hunting rifle and dived into the river. Bullets whizzed past him, blazing trails of silvery bubbles after them, and even as he thought he'd made it, one of them grazed his leg. Only a shallow wound, and not even that painful, but it knocked the air out of him and he was forced to surface. He gasped for air and dived again, but luck was still with him and while he could still hear bullets impacting into the water, none of them posed any danger any more. But having escaped from the raiders he was now faced with the next thread: The blood seeping from his leg would alert the mirelurks in the river like a flashing, wailing beacon and the jet was beginning to wear off. He swam for his life, rounding the memorial, and suddenly his feet touched the ground again on the other side. And something else touched his left leg.

Before he could even react a claw had closed around his leg and pulled him under water again. Panic hit Flak like a giant fist and he pulled the knife out of the belt, desperately trying to see something of the creature in the murky water. He was running quickly out of air and with the force of deadly terror he rammed the knife into what he hoped to be the monster's face. Instantly the pressure around his leg was gone as the lurk sank away, and wasting no time to check if it was really dead or no he kicked out, treading water, and finally, splashing and cursing and flailing his arms, Flak came up to the surface and gasped for air. He managed a few uncoordinated strokes with his arms until his feet touched ground again and dragged himself out of the water before he collapsed.

He lifted his head, breathing raggedly, hard and way too fast. He could already see the goddamned drawbridge, for fuck's sake, only a couple of yards and he'd be safe. Only a couple of yards...

He dragged himself forward again, and again. Managed to scramble onto all fours. Dragged himself a little further. Another pause for breath. God, his heart was trying to break free of his ribcage.

His muscles refused to cooperate. He called them foul names and dragged himself a little further again. A few inches more. And another few. And he had reached the bottom of the stairs. Slowly forcing one arm up and the other one to follow he pushed himself up. And up again. Just one more. His head was swimming and his vision failed, but he forced himself onward with what little force of will he had left. Dragged again. And again. Don't give up. Not here. Not now.

His stomach was turning, but he was too weak to throw up. Forced his arm up again. Summoning every last little bit of strength into his trembling arms. Looked across the bridge.

Flat on his belly he crawled the last few inches like a caterpillar towards the bridge and lifted his head only to see the three guards train their weapons on him upon seeing him crawl up... because all they saw was a jetted-out raider.

Shit. His head fell down again and he could only apologize to Sandy and his friend for not having made it. He tried. He had really tried. He had... really... fucking... ...tried...

Harkness stared at the battered raider with narrowed eyes, and inside his head, several things happened at once.  
>His human instincts told him he had seen this man before.<br>And at the same time, his sensors had scanned the raider's face, built a 3D image of the head, removed the outer layer of outgrown hair and shaggy beard, overlaid the grid with a layer of skin and come to the same conclusion.  
>"Hold your fire!"<br>The guards lowered their weapons and watched with slightly baffled expressions as the security chief hurried across the bridge to lower himself down onto one knee beside the collapsed raider.  
>Harkness really couldn't believe his eyes, but with two sets of senses, there was no mistaking it. Shaking his head in disbelief he then hoisted the unconscious, bleeding man into his arms and stood up. "Open the doors", he snapped at one of the guards. "And alert Preston. Then go and find Shrapnel, and tell him to come to the clinic as fast as he can. Go. Hurry."<br>The man was clearly mystified but having received an order, set off in a run.  
>"Chief..." The second guard said with a confused look at the face of the man in Harkness' arms. "Who the fuck is this guy?"<br>Harkness smiled thinly. "You don't recognise him? It's Flak, for god's sake." He shook his head in disbelief. "It seems he's even harder to kill than we ever could have imagined."

**OOOoooOOO**

Since the guard that Harkness had sent off to find Shrapnel had had no clue himself as to who the man was that had come crawling up the stairs Shrapnel was completely bedevilled why the fuck Harkness wanted him to come to the clinic because of this. However, he froze in the doorframe when his eyes fell on the figure lying on the cot, bare-chested with the torso wrapped in a bandage. The shaggy beard and outgrown hair only fooled him for a second and he felt as if someone had emptied a bucket of ice-cold water over him. "Is that..." He faltered. "That's not..."

Preston looked up at him, his look turning into concerned observation upon seeing his facial expression. Shaking his head, Shrapnel slowly walked over to the cot and likewise slowly sank onto his knees beside it. "That's...", he croaked. "That's not possible..." And after shaking his head like a wet dog, he added in a trembling whisper: "Buddy?"  
>The battered figure on the cot opened its eyes and rested them on Shrapnel's face, the cracked lips twitching the tiniest bit upward.<br>"Flak..." Shrapnel choked out. "I thought they'd killed you, man..."  
>Flak's voice was a hoarse and tired whisper. "Just shitting you."<br>They looked at each other for a moment before Shrapnel broke down and dropped his head onto Flak's torso with trembling shoulders. Flak sighed and laboriously lifted a hand to rest it on his back. "Pansy", he rasped.  
>The sound coming from Shrapnel was halfway between a chuckle and a sob. "You bloody asshole."<p>

**OOOoooOOO**


	14. Fight your Demons 8

Sandy had let the next caravan go as well. And another one. She knew she was not doing herself a favour, but she just couldn't do it. The thought of lying beside his empty cot caused her physical pain; and whenever she couldn't help remember their lovemaking she felt her body scream for the touch that her mind knew it would never feel again. And that would only be worse in the bed where there still might be some of his hairs clinging to the pillow and a blanket still smelling of him.  
>And on the other side, she missed Shrapnel fiercely, missed his company as much as his arms around her. His arms without Flak's however, had been feeling so wrong that she was simply torn in half.<p>

She was sitting on her bed, her back to the wall and her knees drawn up before her as she was lost in these musings and was tempted to ignore whoever it was that was banging at her door now. But the banging didn't stop, and with an angry sigh, Sandy got up, walked down the stairs and opened the door.

"Shrap? The fuck are you doing here?"  
>Shrapnel blinked. "Want me to go again?"<br>Sandy shook her head and tried to get her brain into gear again. "No of course not... sorry. I was just surprised to see you." She looked at her feet. "I guess you are wondering what the fuck I'm up to."  
>"Yeah... but not that I blame you for staying, you know."<br>Sandy swallowed. "Wanna come in?"

Shrapnel looked at her with a strange expression on his face and only now did it occur to Sandy that there was a glowing light in his eyes and a springy energy to his movements. "Shrap... are you on jet?"  
>"What?" He laughed. "Jesus... think me really capable of that?"<br>"Uhm..." She shrugged again. "But what is the matter with you?"  
>"The matter..." he said thoughtfully. "I don't know how to put it, Sandy."<br>"Just spit it out", Sandy said. "I'm in no mood for guessing games."  
>"I wasn't playing a game, Sandy", Shrapnel said and took a step towards her, giving her a long, somewhat concerned look. "Sandy..." He licked his lips. "Baby..."<br>"Spit it out already", Sandy snapped nervously at him. "Who else has died?"  
>"What?" Then he laughed a little nervously. "No one has died. No one. In fact..." Then he looked at her again and his eyes softened. "In fact... quite the contrary."<br>Sandy frowned at him. "I'm still not with you, Shrap. You didn't come here all the way from Rivet City to tell me Angela has a baby, did you?"  
>"No." Shrapnel dragged a hand down his face. "No babies. And no one died. It's just that... sometimes..." He took a deep breath. "Sometimes... someone who is dead... or believed to be dead... turns out to be..."<br>He broke off when he saw Sandy's face grow pale as a shroud and put an arm around her shoulder before finishing what he had meant to say. "Turns out to be not dead, after all."  
>Sandy stared at him in utter confusion, her eyes already filling with tears. Shaking her head she tried to speak but her voice refused to carry. "But..."<p>

With another deep breath Shrapnel slowly turned around and dragged Sandy around with him so she faced the door again, holding her close to him when, with slow and hesitating steps, Flak stepped into the doorframe.

Sandy froze and stared. Flak looked uncomfortably back at her.

For a long while, all three of them just stood there until finally, Sandy slowly peeled herself out of Shrapnel's arms and with movements so slow and laboured as if she was moving underwater, took a hesitating step towards Flak and extended her hand until it came to rest on his cheek. He was still far from completely recovered, his face pale with the skin stretching tightly over his cheekbones, his writs bandaged and his vest hanging somewhat loosely from his shoulders, but it was him, he was alive, and he even smelled like he used to, of gunpowder, leather and smoke.

Her eyes spilled over at that moment but she emitted no sound and her face showed no emotion at all, apart from the streams of tears that were running down her cheeks.

Another long moment passed like that before Sandy suddenly began to tremble and opened her mouth to say something, but faltered, shaking her head. Then she tried to take another step towards him but her legs were suddenly so weak that they gave way under her. Flak shot out his arms and caught her before she could topple to the ground and pulled her close, and when Sandy dropped her head against his shoulder and he closed her arms around her she couldn't do anything else but go thoroughly to pieces. Pulling her with him Flak sat down on the bottom stair and settled Sandy on his lap, closing his arms firmly around her, and rested his cheek on the top of her head while she wept into his shoulder.

"Sandy", Flak finally said when she had begun to calm down somewhat. "Darling. Don't cry anymore."  
>Sandy in turn just dug her fingers into his shirt and held on to him like a lifeline. "Don't let go", she whispered hoarsely and Flak closed his arms a little tighter around her.<br>"Never", he said in a low voice into her hair.  
>Sandy finally lifted her head at this and looked at him again, and Flak felt her plug his heartstrings with those eyes, and here he hadn't even thought he had them. He shook his head, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Darling. Don't cry."<br>Silently shaking her head Sandy put a trembling hand on his cheek again, and suddenly a slow, hesitating smile showed on her lips. "You're alive", she said, her voice still holding more disbelief than anything.  
>"I guess so, since I'm sitting here with my girl on my knees", he gave back dryly and gave her a crooked little smile.<br>Sandy swallowed again and placed her other hand on his other cheek. "Hard to kill, huh?"  
>"Seems so." He smiled at her under lowered lids. "Bit surprised myself."<br>A soft chuckle escaped her and she shook her head again. "Flak."  
>"Hm?"<br>"Kiss me."  
>Flak smiled at her and dug his hands into her hair before doing what she had asked him to.<p>

Shrapnel, leaning with his back against the wall opposite the stairs, watched this with a pleased, gentle smile and lit up a smoke. He kept on watching them kiss with a pleasant, warm tingle in his belly and when they broke the kiss he walked over to them, stood beside the stairs and could, in that position, put his arms around the both of them. "Come on, you two", he said in a low voice. "Let's go home."


	15. The three of us II

**_Part three: All things come to an End._**

* * *

><p>After finally having reached Rivet City shortly before noon they made a small detour via the marketplace and bought a bottle of whiskey, to take away, so to speak; and while they made their way to their cabin they passed it round a couple of times, chuckling and greedily and absolutely shamelessly kissing and groping the everliving daylights out of each other on the way. Feeling alive. All three of them.<p>

Shrapnel took the bottle out of Sandy's hand when he opened the door to their cabin and Sandy in turn pulled Flak in after her, without breaking the kiss, by the means of dragging him along at the shoulders. With another chuckle Shrapnel knocked back a mouthful of whiskey while closing the door and turned around to watch as Sandy groped at Flak's vest while kissing him. He had seen her kiss that way before. She had been kissing him that way, when she had been hammered to hell and back. But now she was practically sober. And still, he could see that Sandy was hungry. Starved, more like.

When Sandy broke the kiss to give both her and Flak a break to breathe, Flak looked first at Sandy, a gentle smile on his face, and then at his friend who was leaning against his cot and lit up a smoke without showing any intentions of joining the party.

"Shrap?"  
>"You go right ahead, buddy", Shrapnel gave back and took a sip of whiskey. "I gave her a good one for you, just like you said. Your turn now."<br>Before Flak could say anything to that Sandy had claimed his lips again and while she ravenously kissed him while grinding one of her legs between his, he dug his hands into her hair and let himself be pushed with his back against the wall.  
>When Sandy leaned back again she let her eyes roam across his face and, with a gentle finger, traced the scar that Forty had given him with splitting his eyebrow.<br>"You poor man", she whispered and ran her hand down his cheek.  
>With his hands on Sandy's shoulder Flak shook his head with a smile. "Can't say I feel particularly poor right now."<br>Sandy smiled in return, a soft and almost sad, tender smile. "You had to suffer so much..."  
>Flak tilted his head and moved one of his hands up to her cheek in return. "And you? You did suffer too, what with believing me to be dead, I gather."<br>Sandy placed a tender kiss on his lips. "But I was only sad. I wasn't beaten, tortured, starved, shot at and almost eaten alive."  
>Flak opened his mouth to reply, but Sandy forestalled him. "Speaking of eating", she said and slowly knelt down before him.<p>

Looking down at her and her hands that were unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly Flak could only lean against the wall, and when she had reached her goal and leaned forward to take him as deeply into her mouth as she could his eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He whispered her name and buried his hands into her hair.  
>Shrapnel in turn watched this with his heartbeat picking up and his belly tingling as he leaned against the cot and took a slow sip of whiskey. It was only when he realised that Flak's knees began to tremble from the strain of keeping himself upright that he remembered that it hadn't even been two weeks since Flak had dragged himself towards Rivet City more dead than alive and was far from being fully recovered. After taking another sip of whiskey he slipped the bottle into a pocket and stepped beside the two.<p>

"Sandy", he said in a low voice, and she looked up at him without stopping what she was doing. He chuckled. "Give the man a break, baby. He's not yet up to speed again." Then he closed a hand around Flak's shoulder. "Come on, buddy. Have a lie down."  
>Flak stared at him under lowered eyelids, his voice slightly ragged. "I'm not a fucking invalid."<br>"No." Shrapnel chuckled again. "But you look like one right now."

Sandy in turn heeded Shrapnel's advice, got up and took Flak's other shoulder. Together they shoved him down onto the mattress, but before Flak could ease himself onto his back Shrapnel lowered himself down behind him and, taking his friend by the shoulders, rested Flak's upper body against his own. Flak looked a little confused back and forth between him and Sandy who in turn just smiled and leaned over Flak's midriff again, dragged his trousers down to have better access, and continued what she had started.

With a deep sigh Flak closed his eyes when Sandy now gently closed her hand around his balls, but his head fell helplessly back onto Shrapnel's shoulder when her lips let go of his dick a moment later to place a few soft, wet kisses on his balls while her hand now slowly pumped him. Running her tongue around them and sucking and licking his balls she elicited a deep, hoarse moan from Flak and watching this from his point of view Shrapnel was wondering why he didn't get off into his pants right then and there like a boy, because he had never seen anything so hot. He took a deep breath of his smoke to calm himself down and, following a sudden impulse, took the cigarette between thumb and forefinger and held it to Flak's lips who closed them around it with a crooked smile and took a deep, rasping breath.

Sandy in turn worked Flak's dick again with tongue, lips and teeth while her hands fondled his balls, and with Flak's breathing becoming rapidly ragged and hard Shrapnel leaned forward and offered him the smoke again. Flak puffed his cheeks and drew a deep breath, exhaling it with another moan and moments later dug his hands into Sandy's hair again when he reached his point of no return, spending himself into her mouth while she drank him dry with deep, throaty hums of pleasure.

Looking incredibly satisfied and pleased with herself Sandy leaned back after a moment and gave Flak a soft-eyed, besotted look. He in turn noticed her look at him and lifted his eyebrows the tiniest bit with a gentle smile and Sandy's eyes grew suddenly moist. "I wish they had not made me watch you being so humiliated", she whispered. "But believe me when I say you're still the man to me that you were before."  
>Flak gave this some thought. "I'm not sure myself I truly am that man anymore, darling."<br>Sandy tried to blink her tears away. "And what can I do to change that? I could see how emasculated you felt and I would give anything to restore you. Give you your pride and manhood back..."  
>Flak narrowed his eyes when Sandy lowered hers and folded her hands on her lap. "I'm here, Flak. Alive, because of you. And you... you've got every right to take now what you suffered so much for to protect."<br>Taking a deep, somewhat ragged breath Flak leaned forward and with a sudden groan grabbed Sandy's shoulders and pulled her close to kiss her with a ferocity that made Sandy gasp for air against his lips. Within seconds of groping at her trousers he had shoved them down to her ankles and was on top of her, breathing raggedly while he placed hard kisses and not-quite gentle bites onto her neck and collarbone.

Shrapnel had moved a little sideways and was watching this, too, with by now aching balls. Despite Flak's deep groan with which he sheathed himself and Sandy's wide-eyed stare he could hear her moan when Flak closed his hands around her wrists to pin her down, letting him take her, urging him on, letting him completely possess her; and with rasping grunts Flak did just that. He was growling like a beast as he thrust into her with hard, forceful moves and Sandy squirmed and moaned under him, suddenly completely submissive. She was giving herself completely up to him.

With slightly trembling fingers Shrapnel produced the whiskey bottle and took a sip as he watched, and listened to, Flak rutting like he had never seen or heard him do before. It suddenly became clear to Shrapnel that Flak was letting himself truly go for the first time in all those months they had been happily fucking in a threesome. He let the whiskey slowly trickle down his throat and closed his eyes when Flak suddenly went rigid and spent himself into her with deep and grinding thrusts that made Sandy scream his name despite her not having reached her peak.

And despite having only watched Shrapnel was almost breathing as heavily as the other two when Flak rolled off Sandy with a deep and heartfelt groan of satisfaction. Sandy smiled at him but he threw an arm across his face and was, after his breathing had calmed down, within less than a minute softly snoring.

Sandy chuckled and turned to Shrapnel who offered her the whiskey. She accepted it with a smile and took a sip before snuggling into his arms.  
>Watching her, feeling her breathe and inhaling her lovely scent of a girl who had just been fucked he closed his eyes and, remembering Flak's endeavour, kissed her forehead before asking her with a soft voice: "Want me to take care of you, baby?"<br>"Please," she whispered in return, her voice holding a smile, and Shrapnel leaned over her, captured her lips with his and slowly slid his fingers between her legs.  
>For some reason Shrapnel didn't understand, her release this time was gentle, and she only softly moaned against his lips while her belly clenched around his probing, caressing fingers. She smiled happily enough up at him, however, and after kissing her again Shrapnel closed his eyes, leaned back and slowly unbuckled his belt and undid his fly. Not first choice course of action maybe, but he felt like Sandy could use a break right now.<p>

It was ages since the last time he had had to give himself a handfuck, but somehow, with Sandy snug up in his arms it wasn't so bad a sensation, after all. When his breathing picked up speed, however, he felt Sandy lean over him and kiss him while her hands began to caress his face.  
>He couldn't help it, he brought his hands to her face and kissed her back, momentarily ignoring his aching dick. Moments later however a gentle hand closed around said dick and pumped him, and while he let Sandy kiss him he gave in to the strange and new sensation of her kissing him and giving him a handfuck... because she simply hadn't done that before.<p>

Turned on as he was after having watched Sandy and Flak it didn't take long for her to finish him, but first after he had spent himself and, after a moment he needed to get his senses together again, wondered what felt so strange about this situation, did he realise that Sandy had had both of her hands on his cheeks all the time.

He shot upright and stared at his crotch, and then, with a very slow move of his head, at Flak who was just settling back onto the mattress with an altogether far too pleased smile on his face. Shrapnel opened his mouth to say something. Snap at him. What the fuck was he thinking fiddling around with his dick, for fuck's sake. If he really was a fag. But somehow nothing of all that made its way out and after a shake of his head Shrapnel laid back again, looking at Sandy who gave him a likewise pleased and slightly horny smile. Then she chuckled. And Shrapnel, looking at her facial expression and remembering what had just happened to him, couldn't help but chuckle, too. Beside Sandy Flak emitted a low snort and within seconds, all three of them were suddenly guffawing and had no fucking idea why.

After quite some time it took them to calm down again, they finally settled into their old, favourite sleeping position that somehow had developed all on its own. Flak always slept on his back and Sandy on her side in a more or less foetal position, but Shrapnel was a messy sleeper and could sleep on his belly with his feet up a wall. So Sandy snuggled against Flak's side with her head on his shoulder while Shrapnel was fine with curling himself up against her back. They fell asleep within moments and peacefully snored the whole afternoon away, waking up only because all three of them were starved.  
>Since the marketplace was already closed, however, they would have to contend themselves with a couple of iguana bites and potato crisps in the Rudder.<p>

As Shrapnel was about to lock the cabin Sandy patted her pockets. "Wait a minute. Forgot something." She ducked in again and emerged some moments later, slipping something into her pockets. "My caps", she explained. "This time it's my turn to stand you guys a round."  
>"Not going to be much of a round", Shrapnel said with a wink. "Don't feel like getting plastered tonight."<br>Sandy chuckled. "Not?", she asked in a voice that he could only describe as naughty.  
>Flak snorted softly and lit a smoke. Shrapnel had given him back his lighter and never been happier to use his own, old fuckstick again that never seemed to work properly.<p>

When somewhat later, they made their way back, Sandy announced she had to make a detour via the washrooms and told her guys not to bother and simply wait for her in their cabin.  
>Upon entering their cabin, however, their eyes fell onto a hand-written note that was lying on the floor right behind the door.<p>

_See you in the marketplace, and come armed. S. _

_PS: Don't forget the whiskey._

They both froze and, after staring at the note for a very long while, finally dared to exchange a look.  
>"Fuck", Shrapnel said softly. "Does that... does that mean what I think it does, buddy?"<br>Flak scratched his chin and shrugged. "Beats me how she managed, but I'd say yes."  
>They cautiously looked at each other again, and when they picked up their weapons both of them were already sporting a serious hard-on. Shrapnel slipped the whiskey flask into a pocket again and silently, they made their way through the dark and dimly lit corridors towards the marketplace. And indeed, the door was open. The key was lying on a chair right behind the door and taking the hint, Flak locked the door behind them.<p>

Shrapnel in turn slowly went down onto one knee and peeked past the railing down into the hangar, and what he saw made him feel as if his balls would explode any moment. He hastily waved Flak over who lowered himself down beside him, and after exchanging a look of mild disbelief and absolute horniness the two men moved silently towards their stall. The sight they beheld now they would never forget in their lifetimes.

Sandy was sitting on their counter, clad only in her panties and her top, although with the top being pushed up to completely uncover her breasts that probably didn't count as clad. The fucking Desert Eagle was resting in its black leather holster at her hip, and if that wasn't enough, she was cuddling the goddamn missile launcher in her arms, one leg slung around it, and was rubbing her nipples against the metal while fondling herself with her hand dug into her panties. She also was emitting a lot of little urgent, whimpering sounds that made both Flak's and Shrapnel's hairs stand on edge.

Her eyes closed, Sandy was giving in to the sensations of the cold metal of the missile launcher rubbing her nipples and her fingers stroking and caressing herself. Still, she lacked something, but she knew exactly what that was.  
>"Shrapnel", she whispered. "Oh Flak... what the fuck is keeping you guys?" She stopped her fingers several times before she reached the point of no return, just to make it last, just to wind herself up a little more, so lost in what she was doing that when she finally by chance opened her eyes she faltered and stared open-mouthed at the view before her.<p>

Flak and Shrapnel were standing in front of the cabinet, both bare-chested with their belts unbuckled and their flies undone, sporting pretty impressive bulges there. Both were also hefting their weapons, in Flak's case his SMG that was, despite being polished, only shining a dull, dark grey after all the years of fighting it had seen, and Shrapnel was holding his sawed-off shotgun, the one she always had admired for the finely chiselled engravings, worn smooth with age. Both had a cigarette hanging from a corner of the mouth, and both were staring at her under lowered eyelids.

Sandy in turn stared back at them with parted lips and heaving breaths. She had never seen them look like that and she had never seen something so tantalisingly sexy.  
>Flak puffed his cheeks with a crooked smile. "Don't mind us, darling."<br>Sandy continued looking at them until the meaning of his words reached her and with a slow, silky chuckle she let her head drop back and, pressing her right temple and her right nipple against the missile launcher, finished herself off within mere moments while emitting a few soft, deep moans.

When she could open her eyes again and looked at her two men they had both trained their weapons on her; both sporting the same crooked, horny smile. Her lips still parted she moistened them with her tongue and, while chewing her bottom lip, gently pushed the missile launcher aside so it rolled out of her embrace and off the table, landing on the floor with a clattering sound that was impossibly loud in the empty hangar.

For a few moments more none of the three moved. Then the two men exchanged a long look and, still with that horny smile on his face, Shrapnel took a few steps forward while Sandy propped herself up onto her arms, resting the palms of her hands beside her hips on the counter. Shrapnel closed his arms around Sandy and kissed her, an open-mouthed, greedy and hungry kiss, slinging one arm around her while the other, the one not holding the gun, was fumbling around with his fly and freeing his aching dick.

Not bothering with undressing her further he just pushed her panties aside before entering her and when Sandy let her head drop back with a moan he slung both arms around her again while moving slowly inside her. Within a few thrusts however, Sandy felt him lower his arms and press the shotgun into the small of her back at a right angle to her spine before pushing her back with his body. She fell back with a gasp but was now supported on the gun that he held with one hand at the barrel and one at the butt, and was thus arching her back and lifting her hips with the shotgun while he breathed raggedly around the smoke between his lips.  
>Flak watched Shrapnel's technique with a certain amount of admiration mixed into his horniness, as he could see that due to Sandy's arched back Shrapnel was able to practically dig himself into her body, far deeper than he usually could, a sensation that Sandy definitely enjoyed given the ecstatic facial expression she bore with her screams of delight echoing deliciously in the silent, empty hangar.<p>

When, after a few last, deep and bone-grinding thrusts Shrapnel had spent himself into Sandy and stood leaning over her gasping for breath, Flak walked over to him, dug his hand into his buddy's pocket and produced the flask of whiskey. After taking a sip he offered the flask to Shrapnel who had watched him with a mildly amused smirk and now pulled the gun out under Sandy's back. Without removing his dick out of her he then took the offered bottle, his shotgun still in his other hand, and knocked back a generous swig before handing the flask back to Flak with a deep hum of satisfaction.  
>Sandy watched all this with a sensuous smile as she straightened up.<p>

With a deep sigh Shrapnel withdrew himself out of her, took another deep breath while stepping back, and looking at Flak, said with a slightly husky voice: "Your turn, buddy."  
>Flak wordlessly handed him the bottle after taking another sip and, licking his lips, leaned over Sandy who was still sitting on the counter with spread legs and a flushed face, her eyes dilated and her lips parted.<br>With a smile Flak pushed her onto her back. "Hold that for me, darling, will you", he said in a low voice and, after placing his SMG between her breasts that were glistening with sweat, removed her panties and dropped them before he unpacked his dick and sheathed himself with a deep moan, closing his hands around his hips as he moved.  
>Sandy in turn slung her legs around him and crossed them at his back, pushing him into her with every move while she held onto the gun with both hands, her eyes half-closed. A throaty moan escaped her with every one of Flak's deep thrusts, but when she moved the gun to her face and ran her tongue over the muzzle Flak's eyes widened for a second before he picked up speed and fucked her almost senseless before spending himself into her.<p>

His eyes still closed he took a deep breath and his voice was more than a little hoarse when he spoke. "Jesus, I never thought I'd be jerking off into a girl at gunpoint one day."  
>Sandy emitted a low, dirty giggle.<br>When Flak opened his eyes at that, feeling droplets of sweat running down his back and temples, he looked at Sandy who was breathing heavily, with strands of hair clinging to her moist temples, his SMG hefted in her hands and primed on him as she cocked the trigger while licking her lips. And after shaking his head he leaned forward and said with a breathless little chuckle: "If you shoot me now, girl, I die a happy man."

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><p><strong>{*~*~*~*~*~*~*}<strong>

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><p><em>Thanks to everyone for reading, hopeyou enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Aaaand because I wanted it so much, I comissioned two paintings on deviantart for this fic. Because it's my birthday, precious.<em>

_http:/hel999 . deviantart . com/art/Is-that-a-rocket-267222823_

_http:/hel999 . deviantart . com/art/Flak-and-Shrapnel-267215434_

_Made by the absolutely awesome **hel999**, my personal god of Fallout Fan Art._


	16. Epilogue

In the darkness of the night the Wasteland lies mostly still. The dark hulk of metal, however, rarely is. As if still alive after so many decades following her crash the old carrier groans and squeals, the sounds of old metal giving and shrinking as the heat of day shifts into the coolness of night. Around the hull the waves slosh and gurgle, and always, always there are people; walking around, standing still, sleeping, eating, drinking, doing what people do.  
>At this time of night, however, it is mostly the ancient ship itself that speaks and tells of times long gone by, as if in the groaning of metal and sloshing of water, she still remembers the sea that once bore her.<p>

The hallways are dark and silent. There is one hallway, however, where there is light. Two lights. Two tiny specks of light, glowing in the darkness, the glow intensifying and ebbing off in an unsteady, irregular rhythm. And suddenly, muffled by a heavy door, a woman screams. It is a wail of violent pain, of helpless agony. It lasts for several seconds before ebbing off into a hoarse sob that fades into sounds too low to be heard through the door.  
>And in the darkness, between the two tiny flecks of light, a low, dark voice says a single, heartfelt word.<br>"Fuck."

A rustle in the dark suggests someone is moving, and suddenly the lamp in the corridor, connected to a motion sensor, springs into life and reveals the specks of light to be the glow of two cigarettes.

Two men are standing in the corridor, pressed with their backs against the wall. Both of them smoke heavily. Both of them blink with blood shot eyes into the sudden brightness of the neon lamp. Both of them exchange a glance, both their eyes sunken and shadowed. They have been there for a while. The floor around them is littered with butt ends.  
>"They've been at it for hours, man", one of them says. "Why the fuck does it take so long?"<br>"Fuck if I know", is the reply.

They continue their vigil. Staring at the door. Smoking like there is no tomorrow. Maybe there is no tomorrow. Another scream rises up from the stillness behind the door, and the men flinch. But this time, it gets worse. The scream turns into a bestial growl that lasts for a good ten seconds.

Both men wince with closed eyes.

The growl turns into a scream again. A high pitched wail that lasts another few heartbeats before turning into that terrible, terrifying growl again.  
>"Jesus."<br>"We did that, buddy."  
>"I know."<br>They hear that wail again. It rises, higher and higher. And it breaks off with a sudden, terrifying and utterly final sob.

The two men exchange a glance and their tired eyes meet in utter despair. The silence after that last sob rings in their ears and they continue smoking with shaky hands. That silence tells a story in itself to them: That it is over. One way, or another.

With them leaning stiffly against the wall the lamp switches off again, leaving them in darkness. No more sounds. The door is too thick for anything but the loudest screams to be heard in the corridor. And there have been a lot of screams during the last few hours. And the two men standing there have heard every single one of them. Two tiny specks of light are still glowing in the darkness. The only sounds are the breathing of the two men and the sounds of the ship remembering the sea.

"Fuck, what are we going to do now?"  
>"Fuck if I know."<br>Their voices are tired, despaired, defeated. The silence is eating them alive.

And suddenly, the hinges of the heavy door groan, a shaft of light falls into the dark corridor and the neon lamp gets the hint and springs into life again.

A bearded man looks at the two over the rim of his glasses. His gaze sweeps across the floor, and back at their faces; he sees two tired, pale, unkempt, unshaven figures that emanate misery from every single pore while trying to tough it out with their smokes. They look at him, defeat and despair written all over them while they try to look as if this isn't their business.

The man with the glasses smiles. "Come in", he says.

And the two men leave their vigil, follow him into the room. In the room is a bed with white sheets and blankets. In the bed is a woman, her chestnut hair still moist with sweat, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. But even dead she looks beautiful, they think. The room smells of the fight for her life. The fight of her life. It smells of blood and of sweat. And of other things, alien things they cannot identify.

But the woman is not dead. She opens her eyes. And she smiles.

And the darkness and despair that has been drowning the two suddenly vanishes in the snap of a finger. She smiles at them. She is alive. Whatever now comes, whatever will happen now, it does not matter. Whatever will come, they can deal with it. It does not matter, because she is alive.

Her voice is tired and hoarse from all the screaming. But it has a shine to it that is completely new to them.  
>"Hi guys."<br>They are stricken dumb, they cannot find any words. Because at her side, in the crook of her arm, lies a little bundle that emits soft, mewling noises.  
>Her eyes shift, her attention shifts, and they both see that she sees nothing else and hears nothing else but what the bundle of cloth contains. She opens her nightshirt, bares one breast. She puts the bundle there and the mewling stops.<br>"Come over here and look at her."

They hesitate. This is unchartered territory. Completely unchartered territory. Completely blank spot on the map. Completely missing map. They are fighting men. Warriors of their time. Dealing in death and destruction.  
>This is different. This is life. New life. And they are mystified, mortified, bedevilled; because they have played their part in the creation of this life.<p>

But because she has asked, they comply. Walk over to the bed. Kneel down beside her, on either side of her, because what they see leaves them awestruck. Out of the bundle sticks a tiny, tiny hand, resting on her breast. They stare at that hand as if it holds the answer to all the questions life has ever thrown at them. Maybe because this hand does hold the answer to all the questions.

All that is important. All that is significant. All that ever had, all that ever will have a meaning. Everything. It lies in that tiny hand.

The man on her right is the first one to rally himself. Forgetting himself and everything around him he extends a probing finger and hesitatingly touches that tiny hand. And that hand, responding to an ancient, primal reflex, twitches and closes around his finger. Dumbstruck, he stares at it, and dares not move again.  
>The other man now extends a hand and cautiously pushes some of the cloth aside to reveal a tiny, crumpled face. Both men exchange a glance, both know that their life has just changed forever beyond return.<p>

"I'd like to name her Catherine", the woman says and looks at the two of them for approval. They both nod silently, mechanically, unable to move their eyes away from what lies in her arms.

They remain like that for a long while before the man with the glasses tells them to go to sleep, that she needs rest. They leave, hesitatingly. They leave, but do not go to bed. They make their way outside where they find a place out of the wind. They smoke again in silence. To the east the sun is about to rise and the morning breeze is crisp and clears their heads. They exchange another look, and suddenly they start to grin. They take a step towards each other and meet in a rib-cracking bear-hug, slapping each other's back.  
>"What are we going to do know?", one of them asks.<br>"Fuck if I know", is the reply.  
>They laugh, shakily and hesitatingly, but they laugh. Life is full of surprises. And full of promises. They never had that much. But now, now they have something worth protecting. Worth fighting for. Worth dying for. In any case worth any effort of making this world a better place. And her name is Catherine.<p>

People had gotten used to their arrangement over the time. They did not question it, rather they found it sweet, that little Katy called Shrapnel Daddy and Flak Pa.


End file.
